My cock jumps again at the thought and I grunt out my annoyance.
No. Absolutely not. We’re not making that mistake twice, buddy.
You need to get the right head on straight, Aaron. Your future at this company depends on it.
I adjust my cock and continue with my shower, trying my hardest to think about anything other than Jacob and his perfect mouth. When I finish up with my shower, I set about doing my skin care routine and get dressed. By the time I’m actually ready to go, it’s nearing eight thirty, which means I still have time to grab a coffee from the downstairs cafe, maybe go for a walk to clear my head. So that’s what I decide to do. I grab a simple black coffee and pour six half n half’s in it with two sugars. Most ofthe men in my family, including my cousin and my dad, run on black coffee. I can’t stand the bitterness. I need sugar. I crave it. Especially when it comes to coffee.
Maybe that doesn’t fit the stereotype, but I don’t care. Life’s too short to drink bitter coffee in my opinion.
The cool Seattle air kisses my skin as I walk down the street. As much as I hate coming home, there’s a peacefulness here that doesn’t exist in California. Especially in the morning. In the city, in LA, mornings are hectic. Chaotic. The streets are always thickly lined with traffic and it’s hot as hell from the combination of the sun, the concrete, the motor vehicles, and the ever-present road rage that exists as everyone tries to get to wherever the fuck they need to be. It’s always a rush, and I used to love that, but now…
Now it’s just nauseating and tedious and drives me fucking crazy.
But here, the light is different. Brighter. The streets aren’t jam-packed, but the traffic is steady in a softer way. It’s continuous, an even flow that has rhythm to it. A woman jogs past me, her dark ponytail flopping in her wake, and I relish in the sounds of the morning commuters, the city waking up, the birds singing their happy little fucking songs.
Seattle is alive and moving. All the business folk out on their way to pick up their morning coffee and bagels, heading to clock into their offices and boutiques and start their day. But it’s also strangely comforting and slow, too.
At least, at this hour.
I pull up the address for the restaurant, noting it’s not that far of a walk. It’s barely nine fifteen and I’ve got plenty of time to kill, but I debate heading over just so I can sit down and relax, maybe catch up on some emails or something. Traveling always sucks, because I feel so discombobulated, but it’s a necessary evil, I guess, when you’re in this line of work.
Which is another reason why I want to take over the family business. Dad’s operated the headquarters forEvermoreand theEverett Holdings Groupout of the city since I was in middle school. Before that, the headquarters was based in New York. Dad always said he did it so he could be home with us. He still traveled a lot though, at least when I was younger. After I graduated, he set up shop here and stopped traveling as much. I never understood why he waited until I was done with school, if his reasoning was he wanted to be home for me and mom, but I don’t pretend to know what the hell goes through my father’s mind. That’s like trying to read Garrett’s mind. You’re better off not knowing.
When I’ve finally pissed around enough, I head over to the restaurant so I can get there a little early and make sure we get decent seats. I get us seats outside, on the patio, which is perfect. When I glance at my watch, I notice it’s quarter til, and I sit up straighter, focusing my sights on the area before me. It’s not overly packed, but it is Saturday morning.
I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to Jacob.
Me: Here. Got us a table on the patio.
I set the phone on the table, looking at it every couple seconds, waiting for that chime like a kid on Christmas morning. I cross my leg under the table, bouncing it nervously as the truth settles on me.
I’m really doing this. I’m really hiring someone to play the part of my boyfriend, so my dad will take meseriously.
How fucking pathetic is this?
Anxiety swells inside me. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe this isn’t going to work, maybe I should just—
And that’s when I see him, walking through the doors of the restaurant, following the waitress who sat me. She leads him here, and I can’t take my eyes off of him as they approach me.
“Good Morning.” That smooth, sweet voice pulls me from my stupor, and I look up to see Prince Charming in the flesh.
Holy hell, he is so much hotter in person.
He stands there, wearing that same smirk he did on the website, but his photo didn’t do those piercing blue eyes justice.
I swear, they are the perfect mix of silver and blue; like the tidal waves that rush in at dawn.
Utterly captivating.
My gaze roves over his perfect features. His golden, straight locks that are casually swept back, but a few strands frame his face. His skin is that perfect shade of just–sun-kissed, not tan, not pale, but somewhere in between. He’s dressed well—a simple pale blue button down with the sleeves rolled up to expose very toned, nice forearms. His watch glints in the sunlight, but I can tell by the face it isn’t designer. It’s simple, understated.
My gaze travels down his chest to his tapered waist, his hands disappearing in his chinos.
He looks… perfect. Like something straight out ofDesperate Housewives.
My cock twitches in my pants, voicing his opinion on the matter, and I shift my position in my seat, motioning for him to sit as the waitress asks what he’d like to drink.
“I’ll just have a coffee and some orange juice, thanks,” he says with a smile, and it’s just as perfect as he is.
